Graveyard Shifts
by Xxlotti-waxX
Summary: Kenny and Dylan learn that unexpected friends are made in unexpected places. Hinted Cartman x Kenny and Curly Goth x Red Goth.


Graveyard Shifts

7 o'clock in the evening is not exactly a _Goth_ time of day, especially in summer when the sun is shining so freaking bright it may as well be daytime, but he needs a smoke so damn bad right now, and waiting until it's properly dark seems like a conformist thing to do anyway. _Real_ Goths go lurk in the cemetery whenever they damn well feel like it.

Of course, the downside to visiting his favourite haunt in daylight hours is that it's not always deserted. For example, the population of the South Park cemetery today is a few dozen dead bodies and one live orange-parka-clad one.

He shoots the other boy a half-hearted glare before settling down against a random gravestone and lighting up. He closes his eyes in pleasure as he inhales deeply, wondering if the other boy has gotten the idea and left.

Apparently not, since a skinny shadow has just obscured his meagre sunlight.

"I don't suppose you could spare one of those?"

He sighs. Hands one of his precious cigarettes over. Hopes he'll leave now.

Instead, he makes a very matter-of-fact statement. "I don't know your name."

"It's Dylan."

Inhale.

"Oh."

Exhale.

"Don't you want to know my name?"

Inhale, exhale, a flick of ash over the grass.

"Everyone in the whole _town_ knows your name, McCormick".

xxxxx

Three days later and he's there again.

"Cigarette for the poor kid?"

Dylan hands it over without really knowing why.

xxxxx

"You don't talk much, do you?"

"Nope."

"I don't either, really."

"I couldn't tell."

"Was that meant to be sarcasm?"

xxxxx

"Y'know that chick you hang out with?"

"Henrietta?"

"Yeah."

"What about her?"

"She's got awesome tits."

A raised eyebrow.

"Didn't think you were a chubby chaser, McCormick."

He waits for the heated denial, but surprisingly, Kenny just blushes scarlet instead.

xxxxx

"So what about you then, huh?"

"... hm?"

"Who'd you go out with, out of the chicks at our school?"

He thinks for a bit.

"Bebe Stevens."

A fit of near-hysterical laughter.

"Are you serious? She's as far from your type as you can possibly get!"

"I have a thing for curly hair."

Kenny stops laughing, and his expression is suddenly far too all-knowing.

"I _see_."

xxxxx

Dylan doesn't notice their graveyard conversations have become routine until he arrives one afternoon to find that Kenny isn't there.

Figuring the other boy is just late or something, he slouches down in their usual spot, next to a weathered gravestone which reads _Billy Marsh, loving husband and father (and terrible grandfather_)_. _

He waits one hour. Kenny is very late.

Two hours. Kenny is very, very late.

Four hours and a whole carton of cigarettes later, and Kenny still hasn't shown up yet. Dylan gives up and goes home.

xxxxx

"Where _were_ you yesterday?"

"I hadta take my little sister Karen to the mall. I promised her like eight weeks ago, and she just wouldn't let it go. You know how younger siblings are... or do you?"

The sentence is left open, and it takes Dylan a few seconds before he realises he's supposed to reply. He hasn't had much practice at this conversation thing, after all.

"Uh, I have a little brother... Georgie. I don't think you'd know him."

"I might. Is he that little kid that hangs out with you guys?"

"Yeah."

"Kindergoth! He's kinda cute – in a creepy way."

"He's a psycho. He carries a flick knife."

"Remind me to stay _far _away from him."

"Hm."

Kenny has got used to filling in Dylan's silences, so he adds "I have a brother too – older. His name's Kevin"

Something that could be a smirk crosses over Dylan's face.

"Kevin, Kenny and Karen, huh? Your parents must really like the letter K."

"They only ever learned the alphabet up to K, that's why."

"Heh. So what's it like, having an older brother?"

"I dunno, it's cool, I guess. When I was a kid, it was great – he taught me all this awesome stuff. Like, how to skateboard and shit. He was totally my idol."

"Sounds... fun."

"Yeah, yeah it was."

A pause.

"Hey Dylan, do you have any-"

Dylan wordlessly passes a cigarette over to Kenny before he even finishes the sentence.

xxxxx

"I. Have something. To tell. You." Kenny says, enunciating with great effort.

Dylan looks at him in admiration. Considering he's nearly finished the entire bottle of whiskey, the fact that he can actually talk is a miracle.

"What is it?" he mumbles, trying to reposition himself so that he's no longer sprawled out in the snow. Yeah, he's not so sober himself.

"I think I'm gay. But not for you."

"Good. Your hair is far too straight to ever capture my attention."

"I'm seeriouss."

"So am I. Now why are you telling me this?"

"Cause... cause you're the only one I _can_ tell. Like usually I'd tell Cartman... no, Eric... I'd tell him the important stuff. But I can't tell him this."

"And how does telling me help you out, exactly?"

"Well cause you know what it's like to fall for your best friend, don'tcha?"

"... Shut up, McCormick."

It's pointless. Kenny has already passed out.

xxxxx

"Why do you like it here so much? In the cemetery, I mean."

"The rules of my subculture dictate that I must spend a decent fraction of my time in a graveyard, or other appropriately Goth setting. But apart from that, it's a nice place to think. Quiet."

Kenny nods his approval.

"Why do _you_ come here so often? I thought you'd hate it... considering your 'condition' and all."

"C'mere. I'll show you something."

He leads Dylan to a row of graves right at the back of the cemetery. Dylan has never bothered to read the inscriptions before, but now he does.

_Kenny McCormick, 1997_

_Kenny McCormick, 1998_

_Kenny McCormick, 1999_

_Kenny McCormick, 2000_

_Kenny McCormick, 2001_

And so on and so forth.

"It's weird, but seeing all these graves – _my_ graves – it makes me feel alive somehow. Like just the fact that I can stand here in front of them is proof that I exist."

"Morbid. But in a nice way. Do you ever like, leave flowers?"

"Sometimes."

"Narcissist."

xxxxx

"I don't know why you had to drag us all out here just to go to some random kid's funeral" Evan grumbles as Dylan leads him through the cemetery, closely followed by Henrietta and Georgie.

"Funerals are good for the soul. They create a healthy appreciation of death, and all that" Dylan replies.

Not many people bother to show up for Kenny's latest funeral, just his immediate family and three boys who Dylan recognises as Kenny's friends, even though he doesn't know their names. He nicknames them silently in his head; _Fatass, Ginger, Jock_.

Kenny's mother hiccups as she places a small bunch of bedraggled daisies on the freshly-dug grave, and Dylan can't tell if she's trying to suppress tears or just drunk. Beside her, a small brown-haired girl who must be Kenny's sister kicks the brand-new gravestone (_Kenny McCormick, 2010_) and yells "You asshole! You promised to take me to the mall again this afternoon!"

Ginger and Jock yawn and shuffle their feet, obviously bored. Fatass glares at them when they announce their departure.

"We've done this literally hundreds of times, Cartman."

"I really have no idea why you insist on us coming to every single one of Kenny's funerals."

The two of them leave, and Kenny's family follow soon after. Cartman stays behind, staring silently at the grave for a long moment. He's clutching something in his hand. Dylan thinks it might be half of one of those tacky _Best Friends_ necklaces, the heart-shaped ones that you break in two and give one to a friend, but he isn't sure.

He will have to ask Kenny about it later.

For now though, it's just him and Evan standing in the snow-covered cemetery (Henrietta and Georgie have long since disappeared, Henri to go fix up her windswept hair, and Georgie to go sacrifice squirrels to Cthulhu or something) and Dylan is busy admiring the way his friend's dark, curly hair contrasts sharply against the stark white surroundings, and wondering whether this might _possibly_ count as a date.

As the two of them are leaving, Dylan spots Kenny perched on top of his newest gravestone, giving him a thumbs-up sign and winking.

He rolls his eyes and flips the other boy off.


End file.
